


Mine the Harvest

by PhilippaSomerville



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-11-18 21:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilippaSomerville/pseuds/PhilippaSomerville
Summary: Life in the Alpha Quadrant has not been kind to Kathryn Janeway.  Having suffered shattering personal losses and feeling professionally at loose ends, the captain is offered a significant--and dangerous--opportunity.  What will be the consequences for Kathryn, Chakotay, and her former crew?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love a happy post-Endgame story, but I was compelled to explore a darker vision of Janeway's return to Earth: what happens when a driven woman returns home after seven years of stress and trauma? How does she resume a "normal" life? What are the consequences of the choices she had to make? How can she contend with the loneliness of watching those she loves move on with their lives? So, here be angst (with a semi-happy ending, eventually).
> 
> The title is taken from a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay. This poem perfectly captures what I see as Janeway's mindset in this story; it also never fails to make me cry. It will feature late in the story.

Kathryn Janeway could hear from behind her the faintest whistle of wind off of San Francisco Bay. Given the thickness of the glass in the admiral’s office, the weather must have taken a dramatic turn for the sound to penetrate all the way to her ears. As the man in front of her was intent on his writing, she chanced a glance back over her shoulder. Indeed, the breeze had cleared the still fog that had enveloped her when she walked into the building half an hour ago. The sun did not shine, but she could see all the way to the bridge under the iron gray clouds. A beautiful view, but not an inviting one. What was that old witticism? The coldest winter I ever spent…. That, however, was not a line she wanted her thoughts to follow at the moment. Enough of cold winters, metaphorical and otherwise. She let her gaze rest, for a moment longer, on the landscape, listening to the pen scratch behind her, before returning her eyes to the man in front of her.

Not her favorite of the brass, this one. (She could hear B’Elanna say, her tone all innocence, “And which of the brass is your favorite, Captain?). Her mouth twitched. Fair enough. But she despised the model of leadership this man embodied. He wanted something from her, presumably, otherwise why summon her? She was not early, but rather had arrived at her appointment precisely on time. And yet, he felt the need to keep her waiting—why? Why was she sitting there idly while he wrote a document that, she was willing to bet, did not need to be done immediately? If he called his secretary to take it from him before their conversation, she’d swallow her collar pips. No, this was likely one of those small-scale power plays that insecure administrators always felt the need to employ.

As if sensing her gaze, he dotted the end of a sentence, signed his name, and looked up. “Thank you for waiting, Kathryn.” He screwed the cap on his pen, set the document to one side. He did not reach for his intercom buzzer. Mmm-hmm, she thought. The pips live to fight another day. 

“I would like to offer my condolences regarding your mother, Kathryn.”

She was, admittedly, caught off-guard by this. After keeping her waiting for no reason, he was going to open with the personal? What, exactly, was he going to ask of her? It must be big. “Thank you, sir.”

“What a difficult thing to arrive back to.”

“Indeed, sir. But there are some things even our doctors cannot heal.”

“Just when you should be celebrating your homecoming, and being celebrated for your accomplishments, to have to deal with that…” He grimaced, slightly. 

“I was honored to care for her, sir. And grateful that we arrived home early enough that I could spend that time with her.”

He looked at her. “I would never have guessed you could be so domestic, Kathryn.”

To that, there was no response she could make that was not expletive-laden. A flash of memory, so vivid and so recent, of gently wiping her mother’s emaciated body with a warm, wet washcloth, made her eyes and throat ache. After that, her voice would have broken on any response, so she merely gazed back at him. He shifted in his seat.

“I asked you here, Kathryn, to discuss a possible mission with you.”

Ah, now to the point. How many times had he used her first name in this conversation? “Sir?”

“I’m afraid anything we say here today must remain in this room, whether you decide to take the mission or not. It is of the highest secrecy.”

“Of course, sir.” She smoothed the hair over her left ear. Two days after her return to Indiana, she had realized that caring for her mother precluded vanity, including time to deal with her hair, even at shoulder-length, so the nearest salon she could find had cut it short. She didn’t mind it. “Audrey Hepburn,” Tom had said approvingly—the first thing he said, in fact, upon opening the door to her knock. “Middle-aged Audrey Hepburn, maybe. On an awfully bad day,” she had responded. “Middle-aged Audrey Hepburn is still Audrey Hepburn,” he replied firmly, stepping aside to let Miral plow past him into her arms. 

The admiral was speaking again. “I’m hoping you will accept. It is a very important mission, and one that I think tracks well with your skills and situation.”

“And what are those?”

“Highly competent, courageous, used to independent decision making.” Independent? Her best decisions were rarely the ones she made alone, but of course he wouldn’t know that. Not everything went into the mission logs. “It’s a solo operation, fundamentally, although you will have some support at a distance. Also…”. Here, he hesitated for a moment, squirmed slightly in his seat. “The ideal candidate for this job has few personal ties.” He did not meet her eyes.

She let that sink in for a moment. “It is very dangerous, then.” She did not phrase it as a question, and he did not answer it. 

After a few moments of silence, however, seemingly unable to let her think in peace, he said, “Perhaps I should not have assumed…” 

“You assumed correctly. My mother is dead. My sister is absorbed in her own family. My former crew…” here, her voice wavered slightly but she recovered, “have scattered to the next stage of their lives. I have no children. I have no partner.”

He smiled and gestured toward her. “Difficult to believe.”

Was that…gallantry? She felt a little sick. He was like an adolescent in a uniform, equipped with deadly force and firing indiscriminately, unaware of the consequences. “You are too kind, sir” she said, her voice so dry it almost creaked, “but the fact remains.” 

Even he was able to recognize her tone, and his smile faded. All business now, he opened his desk drawer to retrieve a file. “Shall I fill you in?”

“Please do.”


	2. Chapter 2

The bracing, salt-tanged breeze on her face was most welcome when she emerged from the building nearly two hours later. She needed that gentle slap from the wind to shake herself into awareness, momentarily to stop her mind from spinning from the implications of her meeting. What the admiral had outlined was…dizzying. Terrifying. Compelling.

From a cynical perspective, he had clearly stacked the deck against her. Working to bring down the quadrant’s cruelest slave-trading syndicate, which had managed to persist despite its patent illegality…it was, quite simply, the right thing to do, and hadn’t she always been a sucker for that? But he had been right in his assessment—you wouldn’t want someone on this job who had a family waiting at home. The likelihood of capture on the mission he’d outlined, of torture, or of death was…well. Not low.

Her feet had, by this point, taken her of their own accord to her favorite bench on Starfleet’s main campus—a spot sheltered from the wind that nonetheless commanded a view of the Bay. She sagged onto it, lost in thought. Any Starfleet officer was accustomed to the idea that death was a possibility in their line of work. It was drilled into them, from the Academy onward. But this…Chakotay would call this a suicide mission, and he’d probably have choice words for the admiral for even suggesting it to her.

His name, arising unbidden to her mind, caused her to take a deep breath. Once upon a time, the thought of him brought only pleasure, but now, pain at the distance between herself and her dearest friend dominated any other feeling. What she would not give to hash the pros and cons of this mission out with him? Although—once upon a time—she could have easily predicted his attitude, as his feelings for her would have made him oppose it. A solo mission with too much risk—he had argued her out of more than one of those on Voyager. Organized a mutiny of sorts to avoid it, in one case. Now, his feelings for her were dead, either transferred to Seven or neglected to the point of anemia. No doubt, she thought bitterly, she could count on him for a completely objective view of the problem now. 

The flare of bitterness gave way to sadness that washed over her in a tide. Her former self—the one in command on Voyager—would not have believed that, having finally returned home, she could feel nostalgia for the delta quadrant. But of course, neither would she have believed an estrangement between herself and Chakotay was possible. It was difficult, in the end, even to articulate the pain his choice of Seven had caused her…still caused her. If anyone had asked, she would have sworn, down the long years on their journey, that he had every right to date, given her own unwillingness, as captain, to be involved with anyone. But that had been a lie, or at least a convenient fiction that she told herself. The truth was, she loved him—had fallen in love distressingly early in the voyage—and in her heart of hearts, she believed he would wait for her…for them. But he had not done so, and more than that, he had chosen as his partner her protégée, the stunning young woman that she, Kathryn, had nurtured and supported, even in the face of his own opposition. 

What a joke she must have been to them, a sad middle-aged woman, voluntarily celibate but mooning over a man who had so clearly moved on to greener pastures. In a perfect world—a world in which she didn’t disappoint herself, over and over again—she could have put aside her own jealousy and sense of betrayal and been happy for them. He had made her no promises, and goodness knows, he was the best of men. He deserved happiness. In this flawed world that was, however, and as the flawed person she was, she withdrew, curled in on herself in a protective crouch. They did not bother to tell her of the relationship, and so she did not feel obliged to acknowledge it. A silent détente had set in that lasted until their return to Earth. Occasionally, she would catch Chakotay’s eyes on her, with what seemed like a pleading expression in them. Those were the rare moments when rage threatened to overwhelm the dull throb of depression and sadness. What did he want from her? To cauterize her own heart and socialize with the happy couple? He could go to hell. They both could. 

Upon their arrival, she had been sucked into a vortex of activity. First, there had been the matter of fighting like hell to avoid any kind of judicial blowback for the former Maquis members of the crew. Then, there had been dealing with Starfleet’s nervous reaction to Seven and Icheb…former Borg drones living on earth? Surely not! And when all that had finally wrapped up, there was the call from Phoebe, telling her that their mother had finally been forced into a doctor’s office due to symptoms of escalating severity, and that the news was not good. In all that time, she had not seen Chakotay. Rather, she thought with a chuckle at the ironies of her life, she had spent her days in courtrooms and conference rooms arguing that he and Seven should be free to pursue the relationship that had shattered her own heart.

And yet, there had been one time, the only time she had seen him, several weeks ago—right here in this garden, in fact. It had been a completely unexpected encounter, and in retrospect, strange. The day had been quite different to this one: bright and sunny, the Bay a deep navy spotted with whitecaps. Her bench had the great advantage of offering an unparalleled view while being somewhat sheltered from the wind. The beauty of the scene, the tranquility of that spot, had been on that day in marked contrast to her own state. It was her first day back at work after her mother’s death. Less than 48 hours earlier, she had been with her sister, scattering her mother’s ashes. On the walk into Starfleet headquarters that morning, she had felt drained but calm. Her mother’s illness had been so fast-moving, and the task of caretaking so overwhelming, that having it over felt—at least temporarily—like a relief. Finally, she could turn her mind to matters less devastating.

But of course, it was still there, simmering just under the surface. The illness had progressed quickly, but it had still involved several weeks of physically and emotionally grueling caregiving work. In addition, some ridiculous impulse had caused her to accept a lunch invitation from Mark, on a day when her sister was in Indiana to spell her at her mother’s bedside. She had taken the transport to a depot near his home and had spent the afternoon with Mark, his wife, and their two young children. On the outside, it could hardly have gone better—she felt nothing but quiet affection for Mark, and he seemed to feel his same; his wife was remarkably gracious and went out of her way to put Kathryn at ease; the children were beautiful. She had held their new baby for a long time, gazing down at her sweet little face and stroking her downy cheek. At the end of the afternoon, she had embraced Mark with real gratitude and returned home. But that night, sitting in the chair in the corner of her mother’s room, listening to her breathe, she hadn’t been able to stop the tears. Well into her forties now, with no relationship and none on the horizon, that type of family life was probably lost to her. Of course, she had never been sure, before Voyager, if she wanted children. Nonetheless, the definitive closing of that door hurt, even more than she expected. 

Still, the daily tasks of caregiving had intervened and prevented her from wallowing too much in that line of thought. But now, when she re-entered her office for the first time, her eyes had fallen on a lovely ceramic vase in delicate leaf-green that her mother had given her years before, to celebrate some achievement or other at the Academy. It had been in her bedroom at home and she had sent it ahead, along with some other personal belongings, to help personalize her new office. Somehow the sight of it, the implications of it regarding family she had lost and family she would never have, hit her like a blow to the face. Her vision blurred, her breathing sped up, and she almost passed out. A classic panic attack. She had dropped her bag and fled, ending up on her bench without even realizing how she had gotten there. She gulped for air, tears streaming down her face; grasped for the anti-anxiety breathing and meditation technique that the Doctor had taught her on Voyager, to deal with crises. She worked to slow her breaths, counting rhythmically, in and out, in and out, in and out. She focused on the rough concrete of the bench under her fingertips, on the caress of the light breeze on her face, on the warmth of the sun seeping through the shoulders of her uniform. Gradually, her breathing slowed to something near normal, but she kept her eyes tightly closed, trying to cement her returning control. 

At that moment, she heard his voice, from some distance away: “Kathryn?” Moments later, “Kathryn, is that you?” She tried, for a moment, to ignore it. Surely, the universe would not do this to her now, when she was tear-soaked and snotty and clinging tenuously to her self-control? Surely, she had imagined his voice? But no—the orange glow of the sun through her eyelids darkened as a shadow fell over her. And once again, but spoken more softly now, “Kathryn?” She took a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, squinting up at him. She cleared her throat. “Chakotay.” What else was there to say?

“Kathryn, what’s wrong?”

Her breathing had normalized, but she must still look a mess, pale and puffy and tear-stained. Lovely. She did not know what to say; she did not, for the moment, say anything. He sat down next to her, took her hands in his own, and chafed them gently. Against her will, she gripped his large, warm fingers tightly. She felt the tenuous nature of her control, felt like a kite tied to a railing, buffeted in a strong wind, tethered only by a ribbon. In this moment, his fingers felt like the knot that held her to earth, the only thing that stood between her and flying apart.

“Kathryn, please, tell me what has upset you.”

Oh, the warmth of that beloved voice. She did not dare to look in his eyes, or she would spill forth all her anguish. He was not hers to burden with such things, not anymore. She remained silent, holding tightly to him, until she could be confident that her voice had returned. Then she removed her hands, wiped her cheeks, and dredged a smile up from the depths of her tattered dignity. “Chakotay. I’m so sorry that you found me in this state. I went to the office this morning and…I don’t know. It was just too much.” She waved one hand vaguely and used the other to dig a tissue from the pocket of her uniform. She turned slightly away from him to blow her nose, and by the time she turned back, she felt able to look him in the face.

He was regarding her with concern. “I understand. I’ve found it overwhelming some days to wake up and not be on Voyager. I feel like I’m lacking purpose.” 

Relieved, she jumped on the out he provided her. “That’s it. Exactly. I will be fine, I just needed a moment.” She straightened her uniform and moved to get up, but his hand on her arm restrained her.

“How have you been, overall? I have been away for over a month—I’ve been out of the loop.”

“You went home?” He nodded. This was hardly surprising, of course; he must have wanted to bring Seven to meet his family. She ignored the stab of pain that accompanied that thought. “How is your sister?”

“She is well, thank you. There is much work to be done on our planet, but I’m hoping I can help.”

“That is good to hear.” She made a show of checking her watch. “Listen, Chakotay, I need to pull myself together for a meeting that starts shortly.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you, for pausing to check on me.” She knew she should ask after Seven—that was the courteous and civilized thing to do—but at the moment, she simply didn’t have the strength for courtesy and civility.

“Of course. Listen…I’m leaving again this afternoon, for a couple weeks back with my sister, to make some arrangements. When I get back, can we talk? There are important things I need to tell you, and neither of us have time now.”

“Yes, certainly. Get in touch when you get back.” 

He smiled, then leaned in and kissed her cheek, before walking away. She sat still long after he left, since the meeting she had invoked did not actually exist. She savored the lingering scent of him and the warmth of his lips on her skin. This was her ration of his affection, and damned if she wasn’t going to make the most of it.

That had been several weeks ago. He was likely back now, but he had not been in touch. Her mouth twisted. So much for important news. And now, if she accepted this mission, she would be leaving in the very near future. It was tempting simply to slip away, not to experience his indifference to her and his happiness with Seven. But she found she could not quite face the prospect of never seeing him again, of the possibility of dying without saying goodbye. She took a deep breath. She was going to have to be the brave one today, or she would regret it thereafter.


	3. Chapter 3

The decision, once made, was easy enough to implement. His office was a mere half-mile away across the campus of Starfleet headquarters. She walked slowly, savoring the bite of the wind on her cheeks. Soon, this would be only a distant memory—there was not likely to be much in the way of quiet strolls and fresh sea air where she was headed. She noted, with an almost clinical interest, that she was already thinking in terms of accepting the mission. The truth was that despite the very real dangers it posed, the prospect of doing meaningful work and of being useful was seductive.

Before long, she arrived at Chakotay’s office building and took the elevator to his floor. His office was located in a cluster at the end of the west-facing wing of the building, all with walls of windows to the outside that let ample daylight not only into the offices but into the interior common area, as the offices were separated from that common space by glass walls only. Anyone approaching could thus see into any of the offices—and through to the exterior and the view over campus—but not hear any conversations. Tom Paris always laughed that the building had been designed so that scolding could be done in private, but not kissing. To him, this was a most trenchant critique of Starfleet culture—that he could not kiss his wife in his office without a disapproving audience.

The executive assistant who worked for the whole group sat at a desk in the center of the common area; from her desk, she could see into any office and monitor the comings and goings of her charges. Kathryn knew her—Sarah had worked at Starfleet for more than a decade, and as a result, Kathryn had actually crossed paths with her before Voyager’s departure from the alpha quadrant. More recently, she had visited the denizens of other offices in the cluster, although never Chakotay. Owen’s office was, in fact, a large suite located just down a nearby hallway. She greeted Sarah warmly, therefore, even as her eyes strayed past her desk to Chakotay’s office. She could see even now that her errand had been in vain, as the lights were out and the office empty.

“Who are you here to see, Captain?” Sarah gave her a smile of genuine pleasure, even as she made a vague hand gesture that encompassed the offices surrounding her. “I’m afraid Admiral Paris is out of the office today.”

“Did he finally take a vacation?”

“Owen? Are you kidding? No. He’s at a conference on Saturn. Were you looking for him?”

“Oh, no—I was hoping to find Commander Chakotay in his office, but I can see he is not here. Is he in at all today?”

“He is, but he stepped out about an hour ago.”

Kathryn looked at her watch—between her conversation and her time spent pondering on her bench, she had not realized that the morning had gone. It was the heart of the lunch hour. “My timing is not great, I suppose. Do you have any sense of when he will be back?”

“I don’t. I know that he and Annika were going to have lunch and go shopping for the baby.”

One beat passed, then two. “The baby?” That was her own voice replying, was it not? And even sounding relatively normal in doing so? Chakotay and Seven were having a baby? Her mind spun back to the last time she had seen Chakotay. He had said…he had said he had important news. He was going to share it when he returned. This must have been what he wanted to say. He was going to be a father. She couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more. She almost smiled, thinking of how happy he must be. 

And then, a breath later, she realized what this news meant. Any door on loving Chakotay herself was now closed. Had she really thought it was still open? She realized that she had. Her stupid, hopeful heart had still—secretly and deep down—thought that the possibility remained. But now, he was a father, and, no doubt, soon also a husband. The loss of hope was almost a tangible thing…she felt its ribbon slip through her fingers, like a kite pulling away in a high wind. What a strange thing, she thought, to be so happy for someone else, and so heartbroken for yourself, in the same moment.

Vaguely, she was aware that Sarah had continued to speak during her reverie. “Yes! Isn’t it wonderful? We are all over the moon, including Admiral Paris, of course! I think that Chakotay and Annika were going to that little boutique just around the corner and down past the fish market—do you know the one I mean? You could probably catch them, or they might be back soon, if you want to wait…”

“No.” Her voice was now harsher than she intended, and Sarah stopped, looking confused. She gathered herself quickly. None of this was Sarah’s fault, and there was no need to add rudeness to her many other failings. She took a breath and softened her tone. “No, thank you, Sarah. I have to get to an appointment. I had hoped…” Her voice caught, and she breathed deep, steadying herself, and then began again. “I had hoped to see the Commander, but I…I have not been lucky today. It’s not pressing.”

“Well, in that case, would you like to leave a message for him?” Sarah’s bewilderment had softened into concern. She held aloft a pen and a pad of paper. “Or, I could ask him to get in touch when he returns. I’m sure he’ll be back before too very long. He could call you.”

“No, that’s okay. I have to get back to Admiral Jarrett and meet with him.” For now, surely, her decision had been made. There was nothing left for her here, and thus there was no more need to dither. “Please tell Chakotay…” She swallowed. What could she possibly say? “Tell him I have some news for him, but it’s too complicated for a brief message. Tell him that I’ll be in touch when I can.”

“Of course, Captain.”

She paused before she turned, and met the younger woman’s eyes. “Goodbye, Sarah, and thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Captain!”

“You know it’s Kathryn now, B’Elanna.”

“Yes, I know. Old habits. Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.” She stepped into the warmth of Tom and B’Elanna’s home, set down her bag against the wall by the front door, slipped off her shoes, and left them on the mat. “Is Tom here? Miral?”

“They’re out on a father-daughter adventure to who knows where. All I can be sure of is, there will be laundry to do tonight!”

“I hope you’ll make Tom do it?”

B’Elanna laughed. “No question about that!”

“How are you feeling? How is this pregnancy treating you?”

“Oh, you know…I’m a bit sick, but I think I’m less surprised by it this time, so I’m dealing with it better.”

“You’re also not trying to be chief engineer of a starship at the same time.”

“That’s true! More time for naps. Can I make you some coffee, Kathryn?”

“Yes, thank you. Decaffeinated will be fine, if you’ll join me.”

“It doesn’t taste good to me these days. I’ll make you the real stuff.”

Kathryn perched on a high stool in the kitchen, closed her eyes and enjoyed for a moment the coziness of her surroundings, the smell of coffee brewing. This, she would miss.

“Here you are.” B’Elanna presented her with a steaming cup, which she accepted gratefully, inhaling the lovely rich aroma. They moved to the couch by the windows that overlooked the back garden. As Kathryn sipped her coffee, they chatted idly. She heard about Miral’s trials and triumphs in preschool, Tom’s efforts to settle into a regular job at Starfleet, B’Elanna’s own thoughts about what would come next for her, after the new baby was born. Before she realized it, more than an hour had passed. Her cup was empty. It was time to get to the point. She sighed and reached out her arm to place her cup on the side table near her, nudged it gently to move it away from the edge. She gripped the handle for just a moment longer than necessary, gathering her thoughts, and then turned to B’Elanna, only to find the young woman watching her warily.

“This isn’t just a social call, is it, Kathryn?”

“No, it is not, although I love hearing about everything that is going on with you three. Or four!” She sketched a gesture toward B’Elanna’s middle, then took a breath before plowing ahead. “I’m leaving, B’Elanna. On a mission.”

“A mission? When? What is it? Have you been given a new ship?”

“No, it’s not a new captaincy. I’m afraid…” She paused. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you. It’s all highly classified. But I leave today.”

“Today? Captain—Kathryn, this is too soon! How could they make you do this? You haven’t recovered from the stress of Voyager, much less your mother!”

“They have not made me do anything,” Kathryn corrected her calmly. “They asked, and I have accepted.” B’Elanna began to speak again, but Kathryn reached out and took her hand. “B’Elanna…the truth is, I’m ready for a mission.” She sighed, and used her free hand to rub her palm upward over the bridge of her nose. “I’m not sure how to be on Earth anymore.”

“What does that mean?” B’Elanna’s voice cracked as she spoke, her fingers tightening on Kathryn’s and tears starting in her eyes.

“No, B’Elanna, no—nothing dramatic. Just… Oh, how do I explain? I was…at red alert for seven years. Seven years. And now, I don’t know how to stop. How to be peaceful.”

B’Elanna’s tears spilled over. “We could help you, Kathryn. You could…you could stay with us! You’re part of our family. You could be here for a while until you feel more at home, until you decide what’s next. Please, Kathryn. Let us help you.”

“You do help me, my dear girl. Knowing you, watching you and Tom, watching your happiness grow, has been one of my greatest joys. But…” She paused, and stared down at her hand, entwined with her friend’s. “I can’t just be…a spectator to other people’s happiness. I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. I need to be useful.”

“But you are useful!” It was a cry from B’Elanna’s heart, and it nearly broke her own.

“Please, B’Elanna. I know many people will not understand this decision. But I need to know that you do.”

“Then explain it to me! Explain to me why you’re going on some sort of suicide mission—and don’t lie to me, that’s what it must be! Why else would it be classified like that? Why else would you be so secretive! This is like your ridiculous idea in the Void.”

“It’s not a suicide mission. I promise you, B’Elanna. I won’t lie—it is very dangerous. But the secrecy is in large part to try to keep it from becoming a suicide mission.”

“You’re going undercover?”

“I can’t say more, B’Elanna. About that.” She looked the younger woman directly in the eye and spoke emphatically. “I believe that if you knew the mission, you would think it worth doing. I have the chance to help people who need it.”

“Why can’t anyone help you for a change? You brought us all back, you fought for us, you cared for your mother. Why can’t anyone care for you?”

That blow hit home. Kathryn paused before replying, as her throat ached too much to speak. After a few deep breaths, she tried again. “If things were different, perhaps. But…I have always shown my love through action. I was able to do that for my mother, in those last weeks. Despite the fact that it was…horrifying to see that happen to her, it was also wonderful to be able to give that to her.”

B’Elanna was listening closely, even while the tears continued to leak from her eyes. She nodded. “I can understand that. But why must you leave?”

“I have always built my self-esteem on my career, B’Elanna. You can understand that, I think?” B’Elanna nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Right now, this is what I need. More than anything in the world, I don’t want to feel…pathetic.” B’Elanna opened her mouth, ready to object, but she kept going. “I want to serve. I have sacrificed so much, to serve. If I stop now, I am left with the sacrifice only, and not the service. And that, I cannot abide.” She gripped B’Elanna’s fingers. “Tell me that you understand?”

B’Elanna stared at her for a long moment. Kathryn watched mulish resistance pass over her face, followed by resignation. Then, “Yes, Captain. Kathryn. I understand.”

That acceptance from B’Elanna overwhelmed her more than she expected, and her own tears overflowed. She bowed her head into her friend’s lap, and she wept. B’Elanna loosed her fingers and stroked her head, maternal, their roles suddenly reversed. “Shh. Kathryn. It will be alright.”

It wouldn’t. It would never be alright. It might be bearable—so much could be bearable, as she had learned for the first time after Justin, after her father. As she had learned so many times since. But bearable was different than alright. She felt, somehow, that it was important for her to remember the difference.

After a few moments, she recovered herself and lifted her head, wiping her eyes. She opened her mouth to apologize, but she stopped herself at a flare of fire in B’Elanna’s eyes, smiling wryly instead. Without another word, she got up and visited the bathroom, blowing her nose and washing her face and hands. Then she made her way to the front door, with B’Elanna following her.

“You will tell the others?”

“I will. And when you get back, we will celebrate.”

“Yes,” she said firmly, putting conviction into the word. “When I get back.” She held out her arms and B’Elanna rushed into them. They hugged long and hard, unwilling to let go. Finally, she gently disengaged herself. “May I ask one more thing of you, B’Elanna?”

“Of course.”

She bent to her bag and retrieved a thick envelope that protruded from the side pocket. “Will you give this to him?”

B’Elanna stared down at the neatly-printed name on the envelope. “Have you seen him? Kathryn, you should talk to him before you go.”

“I tried. I went to his office yesterday. He was not there. It was probably for the best, but…I don’t want to leave without any word to him. Please, B’Elanna?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And now, goodbye, dear B’Elanna. Until we meet again.”

B’Elanna’s face crumpled momentarily, but she fought it down and straightened, making her voice as cheerful as she could manage. “Until the next time, Kathryn.” She smiled—it was watery and wavering, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Kathryn felt a surge of gratitude for her friend’s strength, and for her willingness to share it. “Thank you,” she whispered, and was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

For the second time that week, a member of the former command team of Voyager rang the doorbell of the Paris-Torres home. It was a much more subdued B’Elanna who opened the door to Chakotay, however, and this time Tom was just behind her. 

“How are you, Bee? It’s been too long. You look great!” Chakotay bent to kiss her cheek, but then he paused at the look on her face. “What’s up? Is everything ok with the baby?”

“Everything’s fine with the baby. Come in, Chakotay.”

She turned on her heel and led the way into the kitchen. Chakotay looked inquiringly at Tom, who just shook his head slightly and followed his wife. After a moment in which he kicked off his shoes, Chakotay trailed behind both of them.

Arriving in the kitchen, he perched on a bar stool at the island and looked around. “Where’s Miral?”

“She’s playing at a friend’s house,” B’Elanna replied.

“How is she doing?”

“She’s fine.”

The shortness of her answers, the paleness of her face, the way that Tom’s gaze remained fixed on the floor…something wasn’t right. He asked, gently, “What’s up? Why did you ask me here, guys?”

B’Elanna turned away from him and stalked over to the windows overlooking the yard. After a moment of watching her, presumably to see if she would speak, Tom sighed and said, “Kathryn visited B’Elanna here a few days ago.”

“Oh, really?” Chakotay smiled to himself at the thought of Kathryn, of the news he had for her. “Apparently, she stopped by my office a couple days ago, but I missed her. I need to get in touch with her. How is she?”

Without turning around, B’Elanna burst out, “She’s gone, that’s how she is!”

Chakotay absorbed this, looking from B’Elanna’s stiff back to Tom’s worried face as he watched his wife. “Gone? What do you mean?”

Tom said, “She’s apparently been sent out on some mission for Starfleet.”

“Okay…when will she be back?”

“I don’t know when, and I don’t know whether,” said B’Elanna. For the first time, Chakotay noticed that her hands were balled into fists, pressed into her hips.

He felt a twist of unease low in his gut. “Whether? What the hell do you mean, Bee? What’s going on?” In lieu of a reply, B’Elanna spun around and stalked over to the desk in the corner of the room. She retrieved an envelope and brought it to him. When he turned it over, he saw his name in Kathryn’s distinctive, blocky print. B’Elanna said, “She made me promise to give this to you. So now I’ve done it. I’m going to go lie down.” And with that, she left the room. A few moments later, a door upstairs closed with more force than necessary.

He turned to Tom. “What was that about? What’s going on with Kathryn?”

Tom held up a hand. “I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t here when she visited—I was out with Miral. But as far as I can reconstruct from Bee, Kathryn visited to tell us that she was leaving on this mission, and to leave that note to give you, since she thought we might see you.” Tom paused. “I don’t know exactly what was said, but Bee’s spooked, Chakotay. She thinks the captain won’t come back.”

“What do we know about the mission?”

“That’s just the thing. The captain said next to nothing about it, other than it’s undercover—totally classified—and it’s dangerous. Bee couldn’t get more out of her, but she felt like…like she was saying goodbye.”

His heart, he found, was beating uncomfortably fast, and he fought to tamp down a rising panic. Why the hell hadn’t he called Kathryn as soon as he’d gotten back? Why the hell hadn’t she called him? But no, he knew the answer to that. The damage done by his relationship with Seven had to be repaired, and it was up to him to repair it—Kathryn’s dignity and reserve would not allow her to be the first to reach out. He knew that. He had been both thrilled at the prospect of a true reconciliation with her and afraid of the emotional confrontation that almost certainly would be the price of it. And so, he had been cowardly, had not moved as quickly as he should have. But he had thought he had time. How was he to guess that she had these plans? He turned back to Tom. “Why in the world would she take on a dangerous mission now?”

Tom’s eyebrows arched. “This is Captain Janeway we are talking about? The one who buries guilt and sadness in work?”

“But…what is…I mean, I know she felt such guilt about the Voyager crew when we were out there, but we’re back now. What has provoked this now?”

Tom’s brows now threatened to meet his hairline. “Are you serious? When was the last time you spoke to her?” 

Chakotay’s heart sank, replaying with new eyes the last interaction he had had with Kathryn. “I saw her in passing a couple of weeks ago, right before my last trip home. She was upset, but she said…she said it was just anxiety about settling in. We chatted about it. She seemed to recover quickly. By the time we parted, she seemed to be her usual self.”

“A couple of weeks ago? Huh. It must have been right after her mother died.”

Chakotay stilled. “What? Gretchen is dead? What happened?”

Tom grimaced. “You didn’t know? I guess you were visiting Sekaya for much of that time. Gretchen had ovarian cancer, and like a true Janeway woman, she ignored her symptoms and discomfort for a long time before she went to a doctor. Once they figured out what it was, it was too late. It moved very fast. Kathryn went to Indiana and stayed; she cared for her, right to the end.”

Chakotay flashed to anger, even though he knew that it was unjust, even ridiculous. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I could have gone to her—I could have helped.”

Now Tom’s gaze chilled. “Are you serious? With you dating Seven? Did you think we were going to call on the two of you when Kathryn was most vulnerable? It was bad enough that she went to see Mark and his new family in the midst of the whole business.” He shook his head. “She was heartbroken, Chakotay. And you helped break her heart.”

Chakotay dropped his head into his hand. “I know, Tom. I…didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“No? Well, you did. In fact, it’s hard to imagine how you could have done a better job of it if you tried.” 

Without raising his head, Chakotay said, “Seven and I are done.” Tom said nothing, and Chakotay finally looked up. He shivered at what he saw in Tom’s eyes. Tom Paris was not a man whom Chakotay normally found threatening, but the utter disgust in his gaze now was a palpable thing.

“When?”

“Before I last saw Kathryn. A couple weeks ago.”

“Well, normally I’d be the first to congratulate you on coming to your senses, old man, but…you didn’t think to tell Kathryn? Hell, if you didn’t have the guts to do that, you didn’t think to tell any one of us? We would have told her, and maybe she wouldn’t be on her way to gods know where right now.”

Chakotay did not respond, and Tom’s voice was marginally gentler the next time he spoke. “Why don’t you read the letter? She might have explained more there, about the mission, about what she was thinking.”


	6. Chapter 6

My dear Chakotay,

I hope you will indulge me and read this letter. I intended to speak to you at your office earlier this week, but you were not there when I visited. Perhaps that is for the best, as I never seem to say much of anything when I’m actually face-to-face with you, do I? And now, there are some things that need saying. I know that, in many ways, it is inappropriate for me to say them, given your relationship with Seven. Rest assured that if I were not going on the sort of mission I am, I would not presume to do this. 

Right away, you are probably wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. You talked me out of so many bad decisions on Voyager, and now you must be thinking I’m doing the same thing again. I will not lie to you, Chakotay: this one is very dangerous. There’s a good chance I won’t come back. I can promise you this, however: this one is not half-cocked self-flagellation. It’s important. It’s helping people who are being subjected to death and degradation. I’m sure you understand that I can’t say more than that, but…I think it’s worth dying for this, if it comes to that. I think you might even agree, although I can’t presume to know your mind anymore.

As a result, I’ve had to put my life and my thoughts in order quite quickly. Phoebe and I have talked; she knows the risks of what I’m doing, if not the details. My mother is dead. (I did not tell you that, when I saw you last. I wanted to, but I also wanted simply to share that moment with you. The details don’t really matter, but you should know that I was with her in the end.) Our Voyager crew is well settled. I helped to stop any retribution from Starfleet against the former Maquis and Borg, and I advocated for the careers that our people wanted. All in all, I have few regrets, except for those that involve you.

And so, I want you to know, Chakotay, this simple truth: that I fell in love with you our first year together, and I never stopped loving you. I imagine that this comes as a surprise to you, since I pushed you away so many times. I felt so certain, at the time, that I could not compromise my duty by becoming involved with you. With the benefit of hindsight…maybe I was wrong. I think our crew, at least, would have accepted a relationship between us. But…I don’t know. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do. If I allowed myself a relationship with you, could I have ordered you into dangerous situations, or accepted necessary criticism from you? I just don’t know. I know that watching Justin die changed me, and I loved you as much as Justin, maybe more. Could I love you so completely, watch you die, and survive to lead the crew home? Could I stop myself from burning everything down to get to you, if you were in trouble? It seemed impossible to even contemplate, at least at the time. And I suppose that now, it doesn’t matter.

I admit that I was arrogant enough to think you would wait for me. I’m shaking my head even now, as I write—what presumption on my part, and for what reason? But there it is. And so, when you started dating Seven…well. It hurt so badly that you were lost to me, and that you had chosen her. Of course, it is hardly surprising that you did, viewed objectively—she is young, brilliant, and stunning. But I was not objective. I wish I had been able to do better, to welcome your happiness, but I could not. It hurt too much. Still, I do want you to be happy. I hope that someday this pain of mine will lessen, and I will be able to spend time with you and Seven, and with your child. I know what a wonderful father you will be.

That is what I wanted to say, Chakotay. I wanted you to know that whatever else my faults were, indifference to you was not among them. You are the best man I have ever known. I hope to see you again, but if I do not, know that I love you, and I wish the best for you.

Kathryn


	7. Chapter 7

“The thing is,” Tom Paris thought to himself as he regarded Chakotay, who sat in a chair far too small for him in Miral’s playroom, bent over Kathryn’s letter, “I am not a nice person.” He could almost hear his wife snort at the idea: “You’re a marshmallow, flyboy.” And, sure, he was not the sort of person to, you know, trip old ladies or something. But he was having a hard time, watching Chakotay stare down at the paper, in summoning much sympathy, even as he watched the older man’s tears fall on the letter, making the ink run. Trust Kathryn to use old-fashioned paper and ink.

He, Tom Paris, liked Chakotay just fine, which was pretty impressive given where their relationship had started out. But the captain? The captain had scraped him, Tom Paris, up off the ground and made him a man again. Had brought him on the adventure of a lifetime. Had helped him find his wife. The captain—Kathryn—was family to him, Tom Paris. Not by blood, as his lovely Klingon wife might say, but by BLOOD. And Chakotay was a goddamned fool.

Look—he, Tom Paris, understood the appeal of a beautiful blonde in a catsuit. He was no angel. (Once again, the imaginary B’Elanna snorted, louder this time.) But when you have a woman of the caliber of Kathryn Janeway in love with you, and when her devotion is so fucking obvious that alien species could spot it within minutes, do you mess around with blondes in catsuits? You do not, in the considered opinion of him, Tom Paris.

His thoughts were brought back to the present by an almost inhuman keening sound. Chakotay had his arms up over his head, his face in the crooks of his elbows, which were down between his knees, bending him almost double in Miral’s tiny chair. The letter was now crushed in his hand, balled against the top of his head. Against his will, Tom felt a spike of feeling on the man’s behalf. At that moment, Tom sensed a presence behind him, and stepped aside in the doorway to let his wife see into the room. 

“Kahless…” B’Elanna breathed. “What is he doing, Tom?”

“He read the letter.”

“And you’re just standing here?” Apparently, her previous ire was forgotten, as she pushed past Tom and crouched down on her haunches next to Chakotay, gripping his shoulders and whispering to him. What she said, Tom could not hear, but Chakotay moved suddenly, with an almost violent twisting motion. He brought his arms off his head and around B’Elanna, shifting his face into her shoulder. The momentum of his motion sat B’Elanna back on her bottom and Chakotay landed on her lap, crying and shaking. She stroked his shoulder and made the same wordless soothing sounds that she made when Miral was feverish or had bad dreams. She looked at Tom over Chakotay’s head, her eyes enormous and sad. Tom sighed. For her, he would help comfort the old fool. He approached the two of them, folding his legs to sit next to his wife, and place a hand on Chakotay’s shoulder. Not moving, but holding, gripping. Offering the support of his presence, for what that was worth.

After what felt like forever—Tom’s legs were stiff, so he could only imagine how B’Elanna felt, with Chakotay’s weight on her—Chakotay’s spasm of grief wound down. He raised his head, and Tom winced at the sight of his face. The commander had always been an unfairly handsome man, far younger-looking than his age. Now, he showed every year in his swollen, red eyes, his grey, creased face, and his shaking hands.

“Chakotay,” B’Elanna said, very gently. “What was in the letter? What did she say?”

Chakotay stared at her blankly for a moment, then opened the hand that clutched Kathryn’s letter. Thankfully, he had crushed it from the back, so his sweaty palm had not run all the ink, although it was definitely the worse for wear. He smoothed it out on the carpeted floor, and then handed it without a word to B’Elanna. He climbed stiffly to his feet and departed the room, presumably heading to the bathroom down the hall. B’Elanna, meanwhile, was reading the letter, and Tom leaned in to read it over her shoulder. 

He found he could barely finish it; although Chakotay had given them permission, it was so raw, so personal, that it felt like he was prying on a moment of brutal intimacy. He felt his wife trembling against him, and he himself felt a little sick at the thought of the misunderstandings, the…sheer bull-headedness on both Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s part that had led to this situation—this letter perhaps being all that was left of the captain. Kathryn! Kathryn was somewhere, in danger, thinking that Chakotay was with Seven, that he did not return her feelings, when it was clear to Tom that he did, in fact, love her. His reaction to this letter did not speak of friendly indifference. This, in turn, made Tom even keener to slap Chakotay—why the hell had he been with Seven at all, much less for as long as he had, if he felt this way? 

The idea that Kathryn might die, not knowing this…he could feel his lips curling back in anger and disgust. And then he stopped short, as he neared the end of the letter. He raised his eyes to B’Elanna, to find her staring back at him. She croaked out exactly what he was thinking: “Child?”

“What do you think that means?”

“Are Chakotay and Seven having a baby?” Her voice was louder. He could see her face flush, the beginnings of her anger. 

“Seven and I are not having a baby.” Chakotay’s voice came from the doorway behind them. They both turned, looking up at him from the floor. He had clearly washed the tears from his face, but he still looked dire, old and drawn.

“Then why does she say so?”

“I don’t know. Where would she have gotten that idea?” 

B’Elanna got to her feet. “She gave me this letter when she was here, so it couldn’t have been a misunderstanding of anything I said. Anyway, we didn’t talk about you much, or about Seven at all.” Her voice was cold, and Chakotay flinched, but didn’t look away. He was clearly thinking. 

“When she came to my office, she talked to Sarah…I wonder if Kathryn said anything to her.” He looked at B’Elanna. “Sarah might be in the office. Can I use your comm?”

“Of course.”

Chakotay disappeared again, in the direction of the main room. B’Elanna extended her hand to her husband, and she pulled Tom from the floor. They embraced, and she tucked her face into his neck. He felt her tears, and he held her, gently rubbing her back. 

“Tom…I can’t bear it. She thought he was with Seven, having a baby…. I knew she felt alone, although I tried to tell her she wasn’t. But I didn’t know this…”

There wasn’t anything he could say to make it better, so he kept silent. After a time, B’Elanna raised her head. “Should we check on him?”

“Sure.”

They made their way down the hall together, hand in hand. In their living room, Chakotay sat next to the silent comm, his back to them. They approached to within a few feet, but he did not turn at the sound of their footsteps. They stopped and paused, waiting for him to speak, but he did not move. It was not clear if he was aware of their presence. B’Elanna opened her mouth, then glanced at Tom, seeming to question the wisdom of speaking. Tom cleared his throat and took the initiative, asking, in a deceptively light voice, “Learn anything, old man?”

Chakotay did not look up, but he spoke, his voice rough. “Sarah remembered the exchange. Kathryn stopped by to see me. I was out. She told Kathryn that Seven and I were out shopping for the baby.” He paused, and swallowed hard. “Your baby, of course. We were buying…” his voice broke, and he had to stop before starting again. “We were buying gifts for your baby. Separate gifts. As friends. Trying to…to salvage something positive out of the whole mess.”

B’Elanna said, “And Kathryn must have thought…”

Chakotay stood abruptly and wheeled around. He looked ghastly. He looked, to Tom, like he was about to be sick. And, true to this assessment, he stumbled away, down the hall in the direction of the bathroom. They heard the door slam and, at a distance, the faint sound of retching. Tom grimaced in sympathy, and sighed.

B’Elanna turned to him. “We have to find out where she is, Tom. We have to see if we can get word to her before she goes fully undercover.”

Tom looked at her in disbelief. “You think the captain would abandon a mission for the chance at a romantic reunion?”

B’Elanna glared at him. “Of course not. But she might try harder to come back from it.”

She held his gaze, inexorable, and he knew what she wanted. He sighed again. “We’re not going to get anything out of him, Bee.” But he knew, even before he said it, that resistance was futile. “Fine! Fine. I’ll call my father.”


	8. Chapter 8

For the entirety of his life—or at least since he had developed a distressingly early tendency to defy parental authority—Tom Paris had wondered how his father, a man whom genetics had dealt the unfortunate hand of looking like an overgrown and aging baby, could manage to project such an air of chilling authority. No doubt, Owen Paris fulfilled with zest the role he seemed born to play—that of doting grandfather—whenever he was with Miral, or when he contemplated the arrival of his second grandchild. He also was, Tom conceded, a loving husband. Recently, as their own relationship had calmed through Tom’s own increased maturity, Owen had even showed a new side to himself, that of companionable and affectionate father. And yet, when necessary, Owen could still roll out the froideur of the admiral. He wore it now, sitting in his office and directing a withering gaze at Chakotay, B’Elanna, and Tom in succession as B’Elanna explained their presence. Tom had insisted on B’Elanna taking the lead in the discussion. 

“Oh, real courageous, Tom.”

“Courageous be damned. This was your idea, Bee, for one, and for two, you’re his favorite of all three of us.”

That was undeniable, and so B’Elanna didn’t bother denying it. However, even she seemed quailed by her father-in-law’s demeanor. After she finished speaking, a silence fell. It had just gotten truly awkward—Tom had begun to fidget in his seat—when his father spoke.

“So…what do you want from me?”

The three of them looked at each other. Had that not been clear? 

“Owen,” B’Elanna began, “we…wondered if you knew any more about this mission of the captain’s.”

“Of course, I know more. Do you expect that I would share that information with you?”

Chakotay spoke up. “Sir, can you tell us if she has left Earth already? Or if we might be able to speak to her before she goes?”

Owen Paris’s eyes turned to Chakotay, and Tom felt a sincere frisson of sympathy for the man beside him. His father’s eyes had never looked so blank and chill. It was something to behold. 

Owen said, “And what gives you the right to information about Captain Janeway? What special status in her life do you claim?”

Chakotay’s mouth dropped open and then he stammered, “I’m…I’m her first officer.”

“Not anymore.”

“Just because the Voyager mission is over…it doesn’t mean I have no interest in her welfare!”

“Indeed? I disagree. I think that’s exactly what it means.”  
Involuntarily, Tom said, “Dad…” He then immediately winced. What was he doing, throwing himself into the line of fire for Chakotay? Owen’s gaze snapped over to him. 

“Yes, Tom?”

“Give him a break, dad. He wants to help the captain.”

“Does he?” Owen’s eyes turned back to Chakotay, and held the younger man’s gaze. “Does he want to help Katie? Is this not the man who dropped her for a younger model? Who vanished and left Katie to deal with the fallout with Starfleet? Who was nowhere to be found when her mother was dying?”

Chakotay, to his credit, did not drop his gaze, but neither did he speak. Tom could see his throat working; it was likely he could not speak if he tried. This time it was B’Elanna who stepped into the fray.

“He’s here now, Owen. And really, he’s not the point. What can you tell us about the captain?”

Owen sighed. “There is nothing I can tell you. I don’t know all that much, but telling you anything could endanger Katie.”

“Dad…don’t you trust us?”

“It’s immaterial whether I trust you, Tom. Starfleet needs to keep tabs on every source of information about this mission. Any leak could be fatal.”

“Do you mean fatal to the mission, or fatal to the captain?”

His father gazed back at him without responding, which was response enough. After a long pause, Owen spoke again. “I want to know how it happened.”

“What, dad?”

“I want to know how you missed it. How I missed it. How we didn’t see Katie struggling. I knew about Gretchen. I knew that this one”—he made a dismissive gesture in Chakotay’s direction—“had gone off with the blonde. I knew that Katie was exhausted from the testimony. Days and days of it. But somehow, I let her convince me that she was fine, when all the while she was being pushed to the edge, pushed to a mindset that allowed her to accept…” His voice broke and he turned his head sharply to the side, looking past them out the window. Tom could see that he was breathing deeply, regaining his control; he looked at his wife and saw that she was crying silently as she watched her father-in-law. 

“What do we do?” Chakotay burst out. “Please, sir—is there anything we can do?”

Owen looked at him, his eyes bright, and he seemed to soften now, toward the younger man. “We wait, Chakotay. We hope that she can be brilliant, one last time, and come home.”

There was not much more to say, and so they rose to take their leave. Tom was the first to reach the door, was opening it when his father spoke again. “One thing I will say. Don’t necessarily believe anything you hear in the news. With this kind of situation, there will always be message control. To protect her, to protect the mission, to save others involved.” He looked down at his hands, and then back up at them. “If she’s in the news, come to me. I’ll confirm or deny.”


End file.
